chatterbox

Jennifer: Margaret, come and look at this goat.
M: That's not a goat -- it's a sheep!
J: You're right -- that is a sheep.

M: Green smoothies make me happy.  [And later, waiting patiently at her seat at the table, while no one is planning on making anything for breakfast, which was two hours earlier]: I'm ready for my green smoothie!

M: Daddy, you stole my kitty cat!

M: I can't like that cup -- that cup not make me happy.

Greta likes a pair of sleepers she inherited from her brother Casper.  They have blue and white horizontal stripes, and have a picture of a monkey on the front.  She likes to talk about the monkey, but doesn't like being confused with him ("Hey, I not a monkey!").  This morning, she explained to me that "the monkey's eating his ba-na-na -- when he finishes his ba-na-na, he says, 'ooh ooh ah ah.'"  (n.b.: Margaret pronounces "banana" with the stress on the first syllable and the vowel sounds switched.)

evening light

impish

Casper, solving the problems of interstellar travel: "You have a rocket ship.  Then you capture some light, like in a zip-lock bag, then you put in rocket boosters.  And the ship would already have an engine.  Then you go light speed!  See?  Easy."

C, asking to taste some of Jen's herbal tea: "Hmm.  It tastes just like it smells."  After a second sip: "It tastes like water . . . and plants."  After a second of deliberation: "I think I'm too young for this."

over the ravine

This family portrait would be rather more impressive if I had extended the frame to show the space beneath the kids' feet.  Below them, there is a small drainage ravine (one magnitude larger than a ditch), with the tree balanced over it.  It's not far enough that the kids are in any danger of falling down -- but they get the thrill of believing that they are.

Sunday best

I'm afraid (quite literally) to say that Margaret is a climber.  It's not infrequent that I'll come into the living room and find her halfway up a bookcase or dancing on the table.  After church, she wanted to climb up the goofy ornamental pillars in the front of our house.  She couldn't make it far wearing her Sunday Mary Janes, but she had a great time doing it.

the liberry!

Our local library was recently renovated.  Here are some pictures of the children in their native habitat.

statue

This statue is found along one of our downtown streets.  When we walked by it, the children all wanted to find out what was being read in the book, so they gathered around to see -- all, that is, except for Casper, who was terrified of the sculptural children.  Behold (although at this point, he's moved beyond terror and despair to despondency):

styling

Gwendolyn is reluctant to cut her hair, despite encouragement from her parents.  Her explanation for not wanting to trim it is that she's saving it again for Locks of Love, but I think she's just used to having it long at this point.  The reason she's being encouraged to change is not cosmetic, I should point out, but because it's difficult for her to keep it combed and kempt.  All her conditioning and brushing simply keep tangles at bay, especially since she doesn't care for ponytails or braids.  It's a good thing, then, that she has a stylist at hand to help her looking like a "pincess."

That flower headdress is Greta's "pincess" crown.

Lineebell

This action shot shows Linus ringing the bell which stands in a city square just outside various municipal buildings in our downtown.  Unseen in this image is Greta, running toward me in panic -- the tolling really is loud.

Casper sleeping

This is the way that we found Casper sleeping in our bed after he'd crept out of his own room.  His pup Toffee and his friend Whaley Whaley are keeping him company.

Casper: I'm sick.
Margaret: I sick, too.
C: Well, you're pregnant, but I have a stomach bug.  [to Mama]: We're just playing.

li'l junkie

Jennifer: [on the phone] Could I please speak to Todd Samuelson?
Margaret: Todd Samuelson?
J: Who is Todd Samuelson?
M: He's, uh . . . he's your Mama!

Margaret: [talking to a toy dog] Can I go into Target?
M: [responding] Yes! Woof! Of course you can!

M: I watch Peg + Cat!
Daddy: You've had enough, little PBS junkie.
M: I not junkie -- I muffin! No -- I Ketta!

M: I want to see myself in mirror!
Daddy: But I just got home, and haven't gotten any kisses.
M: [holding herself up on her Mother's bureau, swinging her legs side to side] So sorry, but I swing around.

M: [Angry at her father, who has taken away the necklace she stole from her Mother's dresser] I'm going to town! [Rocking ever more quickly on the rocking chair.]

. . . and two with the shivers

I said, and said, and said those words.

I said them.  But I lied them.

Like her big brother before her, Greta has developed a great love for "scary" storybooks.  This began (just as it had with Casper) with an abiding love of Dr. Seuss's great What Was I Scared Of? (the final story in The Sneetches), with its many chills.  It also extends to family favorite The Spooky Old Tree, which Casper is reading to Margaret in this photo.  (It helps that he has memorized it.)

Christmas cleanup

We spent much of this weekend reluctantly putting away our Christmas decorations.  We had removed the ornaments from the tree earlier in the week, but we continued the process by taking the tree out, putting away Jennifer's collection of nativities, and carefully storing the toys which Dad made for some of my earliest Christmases. They got a lot of attention this year, as you can see.  (That focused action shot with Linus and the boomslang is particularly telling.)

camo cat

What could that cat be hunting in the talking tree?  Read on:

bedhead

As our two-year olds tend to be, Greta is a real chatterbox.  Here are a few recent exchanges:

Jennifer: Where's Daddy?
Margaret: He's in the kitchen.  He's making my dinner . . . and your dinner, too.

J: Let's put on your shoes.
M: We going Legoland? I like Legoland . . . the ride not scary.

J: It's time to go to nursery.
M: I can't like nursery.
J: Well, you can go there, and I'll go to my class.
M: You go to your class, and I'll go to my church.

Gwennie: [reading scriptures]
M: I want to shake monsters and beasties' hands.

Many of her discussions are held privately as she plays with her stuffed animals or the inhabitants of her playhouse.  They tend to run like this:

M: Hello, Cocoa.
C: Hi, Ketta.
M: How are you?

Sparkling In the New

I'd hoarded some sparklers from July to use for our New Years Eve festivities.  I'd forgotten about them when, as if by chance, Linus brought me the bag while prowling through my office.  The children were all excited by the prospect of heading outside as the year began its final decline to set them off, though Greta was initially a little hesitant.

holder

giant armadillo

Yup.  It's a giant armadillo.

butterfly day

Our local Natural History Museum, one of our favorite places in town, came up with a clever fundraiser last year: a butterfly release!  This year -- the first time we've participated -- each child got a paper sleeve containing a butterfly (which had apparently been kept at a low enough temperature to make them semi-dormant) to send into the gardens and trees around the building.  Even though some of the children seemed a little hesitant (Casper & Greta) or disinterested (Linus) at the beginning of the process, each was thrilled to watch the butterflies flash their wings and fly off -- after spending a moment on a finger or shoulder.

big cat

This is Gwennie at the local Natural History Museum, thinking how great it would be to be a big cat.  Or any cat, really.

entre renard et loup

This is Linus at the local Museum of Natural History, looking rather more intense than the fun-loving wolf leaping up behind him.

curl-less

Six months ago, I posted an image of this girl in front of this window with a beautiful corona of curls at the nape of her neck.  The curls are now gone, sadly.  The reason is not due to the decline of Texas humidity (also sadly) or even to an ill-conceived haircut.  It's actually Margaret, who has developed the habit of pulling at the back of her hair while she relaxes with her loveys (Cocoa the Bear and Dot the Dog, made by her Auntie Shawna and gifted by Auntie Melissa).

We actually discovered that for a time she was eating the hair that she was pulling out, but I think that's a practice of the past.  In any case, the wilds have been tamed.  She's no less cute than she was, but maybe she's a little less cute than she would have been.

delectability of deliciousness

You can't accuse this boy of not enjoying his food.  He is, by nature, a hand-eater (meaning that we often have to remind him to use his utensils), but it may be the fact that he enjoys the tactile qualities of his meals as much as their taste.  Or maybe he just doesn't mind wearing his lunch.

(Incidentally, at a recent church function, I saw our Bishop eating a cupcake by tearing it in half  and putting the frosting in the center of the cake.  I found this pretty revolutionary -- the fact that I've lived forty years on this planet and never discovered this solution to the inherent flaw of the cupcake, which is that it's the wrong shape for human mouths, leaving frosting to inevitably smear all over your mouth -- and discovered that I'm not the only person to feel this way.  I attended a party for a colleague this afternoon, and when I tried the trick for the first time, another friend yelled "whoa" from across the room, shutting down any number of sober and academic conversations and leaving me to proselytize for the approach.)

quartet

Girls in pastels, boys in stripes.  (Since they dressed themselves -- except for Margaret, who was not clothed in consultation with Gwennie -- we can't be held responsible for this appearance of organization.)

cheeky

This is the look I get when I ask Greta to leave what she's doing and come to join the rest of the family. She gives me this little grin, then turns back to whatever she's playing with.  I suppose I should take some consolation in the fact that she acknowledges me, and that she's not malicious in her decision to disregard me.  It's just that I'm much less interesting than what she's involved in.  And sass is its own reward, after all.

Jen, starting to cut into a watermelon: "Greta, do you know what this is?"
Greta: "Egg?"

Greta, upon seeing a picture of her mother pregnant with Linus: "Mama. Apple."

1 - 2 - 3 - 4, I declare

And fortunately, Gwennie was able to find something to do while the cub scouts were derbying it up . . . a rousing round of thumb war.  Apparently, she and Emma were so proficient in their digit battles that they gathered an audience.

a boy and his rocket

to Jupiter and beyond

As our new cub scout, Linus is enjoying many of the programs for the first time.  It turns out that the first "construction race" he's gotten to do is the notorious space derby (which I still remember from my youth with some bitterness).  We didn't receive his kit until Sunday, and it was Tuesday before we really started getting the rocket together.  Linus ended up with a pretty sharp entry, though -- especially with his attentive paint job.  And although the races weren't competitive (thankfully), he had a winning rocket until his inattentive father over-wound its propeller, busting the rubber bands.

The winning rocket, at bottom right

birthmark

Margaret has a couple of birthmarks on her legs, including a fairly intricate one on her right thigh.  Jennifer's convinced that it's going to lighten and disappear in a few years, and she's already lamenting that.  This is the difficulty with a (likely) last child -- every stage and milestone seems so final when it passes.  Well, it doesn't matter to Greta.  Apparently she doesn't have any problem showing some leg, given the way she's hiking up her shorts there.